Every Word Wants To Be

But How Do I Get To Having To Write A Book?... It Was A Mother Who Bore Me, Not An Inkwell!

The Thought Came To Me That All One Loves In Art Becomes Beautiful. Beauty Is Nothing But The Expression Of The Fact That Something Is Being Loved. Only Thus Could She Be Defined.

Every Day There Comes A Moment When A Person Lays His Hands In His Lap And All His Busyness Collapses Like Ashes. The Work Accomplished Is, From The Soul's Point Of View, Entirely Imaginary.

The Difference Between A Healthy Person And One Who Is Mentally Ill Is The Fact That The Healthy One Has All The Mentall Illnesses, And The Mentally Ill Person Has Only One.

You Proclaim That One Should Die For The Highest Virtues, Because You Take It For Granted That Nobody's Been Living For Them, Not Even For A Single Hour.